rare.”
Into the shadow they crept (the don dealt largely in shadows.)
’Twas a Spanish beauty, and a pensive beauty, who came slowly along.
“Lepo, ’tis a damsel who hath need of condolement.”
“He hath condoled with many of them, this master of mine.”
“Senorita, Senorita. Heaven!”
“Ha! ’tis Donna Elvira; O rare—rare.”
“’Tis you, Don Juan—monster, robber!”
“’Tis an old acquaintance, as one shall read by the tongue.”
“Donna! quiet, quiet (what misfortune); if thou wilt not believe me, thou’lt believe this worthy gentleman.”
“In faith! that’s Leporello—”
“He’ll tell thee all; I pray thee turn to him.”
And the lady doing so, the don took advantage of the shadow, and was off anywhere.
“Well, villain, speak!”
“In faith, good lady, it may be declared, seeing the world we live in, that a square is ne’er a round, or equally a round a square; and yet—”
“Cease, scrub; and thou, Don Juan—gone! The monster hath gone! Which way?”
“Ah! marry, which way! though wherefore shouldst thou care; he is not worth the kindness of so considerable a lady.”
“Ah, he leaves me!”
“By your leave, lady, ’tis not the first lady he hath fled from. Have I not here a book, which hath weight in it, I warrant thee; and if it be not filled with the names of the ladies he hath fled from, with the particulars of their birth, parentage, and residences, the evil one hath played false with my handwriting, or some good angel hath, in pity to my master, wiped out the faithful record. See now, in Italy he flies me six hundred and forty; in Germany, he hath ruined two hundred and thirty-one; one hundred in France; thou shalt repeat me that number for Turkey; but here in Spain he hath destroyed the peace of one thousand and three.”
Here the serving man dutifully followed his master into shadow, and scudded away harder and harder when he heard the pattering of little feet behind him.
CHAPTER II.
Little Zerlina was a little country maiden, as happy as the sun was bright, and as fond of Masetto as the bee of sweet flowers.
As for Masetto, he loved Zerlina as honest natives do love, with his whole heart, and he thought nobody equal to Zerlina.
And that day was come when Zerlina and Masetto were to be nobody’s business, and more, and were to be all in all to each other for life; they were going to be married.
The country folk were blythe and happy, and full of the wedding, chatting, laughing, and wishing the bride and bridegroom happy, when a grand Don, accompanied by his servant, for he walked behind, caused the prattle to die away into silence.
“I’faith, pretty creatures! a marriage, good friends? Nay, go on with your sports—go on.”
“Yes, good my lord, and I am the bride.”
“A lovely bride! And who’s the bridegroom?”
“So please you, at your service, here, I call myself Masetto.”
“Spoken bravely!”
“O rare! he hath the build of a husband, hath he not?”
Here the little bride, who was a little vain, and who rather plumed herself upon talking to a grandee, said, “Masetto hath an excellent heart.”
“And also have I, so we should be friends; and, prythee, what do they call thee?”
“Zerlina, so please you.”
“And so please you, I call myself Masetto.”
For truth to tell, the little rustic was growing jealous.
“And you two are to be married. Well, well; I do offer you my protection, aye, and my house. Leporello, show these good people to my house, give them what they will; and for the bridegroom, he is the guest of honor, Leporello—pay, if thou valuest whole bones, excellent attention to the bridegroom.”
“I seize thee, master, I seize thee.” Thus the man, speaking softly to the master. Then the man said to the lucky bridegroom: “So please you, walk by me. And all you rustics, follow heartily.”
“But, good sir, Zerlina must come with me.”
“’Tis not etiquette that thou shouldst be bound to her side. Good friend, come walk by me. The Senor himself will care for her right heartily. So please thee, walk walk.”
“Oh! be not afraid, Masetto, the senor will guard me.”
“But!—but!—”
“Verily, friend Masetto, thou art little better than a curmudgeon. Walk, I say, walk.”
“Dost thou not breathe more lightly, Zerlina?”
“Wherefore, Senor?”
“That the clown hath gone.”
“Nay—he hath my love!”
“A king should have thy love; those pretty lips, those eyes, those little fingers, were not made for clowns.”
“Nay—but I love him!”
“And I love thee. A poor home, and a poor husband—is this thy lot? See away there, ’tis my house, ’tis my palace. I love thee, I love thee. Wilt thou be my wife, Zerlina?”
“Wife, Senor, thy wife?”
“Choose between us, Masetto or Don Juan.”
“I—I, then, a great lady. Yet, Masetto.”
“Come my love, come, my love.”
But the don started and turned pale, for as he made a step forward with the simple little Zerlina, there was standing Donna Elvira.
“Thou seest,” he said rapidly, before she could speak, “I am but toying with her simplicity, I mean no harm.”
“No harm, Don Juan, thou art destruction.”
“Nay, believe her not, charming Zerlina, ’tis a poor forlorn creature, who followeth me because I cannot love her. Well, if she will not quit me, I
